Storming
by CaseyRachel88
Summary: Hotch doesn't sleep when it's raining, and Reid wants to know why. SLASH: established Hotch/Reid relationship.


Storming

Summary: Hotch doesn't sleep when it's raining, and Reid wants to know why. Established Hotch/Reid relationship.

Rating: T – for child abuse memories. Nothing graphic, but better safe than sorry.

Disclaimer: They're not mine. No one's that crazy.

Any and all feedback is appreciated – feel free to point out any errors, tell me what does and doesn't work, etc. :-)

"_Fear is a tyrant and a despot, more terrible than the rack, more potent than the snake." – Edgar Wallace_

"Why are you afraid of the rain, Hotch?"

Aaron's eyes flashed like lightning to Spencer's, having been unaware that the younger man had known he wasn't sleeping. "What makes you think I'm afraid of rain?"

Spencer snorted and rolled onto his side to face Aaron, the movement shaking the bed slightly. "Come on, Hotch. I'm not an idiot. You don't sleep when it rains. Usually you're restless until you think I've fallen asleep, and then you go out into the living room to work or watch TV or read until it's almost time for the alarm to go off, and you sneak back in."

_Damn_, Hotch thought silently. He hadn't realized that his lover was aware of his dislike of the rain. A boom of thunder went off in the distance.

Spencer continued speaking, "I don't think you have Ombrophobia, which is an abnormal, persistent fear of rain, or being rained on. Statistically speaking, did you know that there are- " a cough drew put the younger man back on point. "That aside, I've never seen you get anxious when it rains and we're at the BAU, or if it rains when we're on a case. At the hotels when the Bureau goes cheap and won't pay for separate rooms, you sleep through the night when it's storming. I've seen you walk through it. But when we're together, at your place or mine, you don't sleep when it rains…

"I used to think it had something to do with not being able to sleep or nightmares after a bad case, but I don't think it is anymore. You're usually tense at night when storms are coming. So, why are you afraid of the rain, Hotch?"

For a moment, Hotch seriously considered ignoring the other occupant of his bed, rolling over and feigning sleep to see if Spencer would let the conversation die, but the moment the thought entered his mind he dropped it just as quickly. Spencer would never let this go now.

"Maybe," the dark haired man replied, "I just don't sleep well when it rains." There. That wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the full truth.

Long hair shook back and forth. "Bullshit." He paused. "Aaron, you're exhausted. You don't have to tell me. But – you can't afford to be missing sleep. The team is overworked as it is; we can't have you at anything less than your best. And if you aren't sleeping, you're not at your best."

An annoyed sigh nearly left Hotch's mouth before he got it under control – Spencer was right. This was the second night it had been raining, and other than a few hours that he'd managed to drift off, he hadn't slept. Just before that, they'd been in North Carolina for a missing child case. It had a race against the clock with a child's life hanging in the balance, and the team's sleep schedule had suffered. Hotch had not slept at all that case until they were flying home, pulling almost three days with no more than a few brief hours of rest at most.

Lightning crashed as the storm grew wilder in the early morning hours. This storm – both the one outside and the one raging within Hotch wouldn't be calming soon. Reid braced himself to force the topic if Hotch wouldn't, simply because the team did need him in top form right now. But that didn't mean Aaron had to like it.

"Spencer, listen to me, just go back to sleep, we can talk about this in the morning," Aaron tried.

Reid clearly didn't like Aaron's resistance, but didn't know what to do about it. Hesitantly, he said, "Aaron – if you don't tell me what's wrong, so help me, I'll have to do something drastic. I-I will-will-"

Hotch cut his agent off before he could finish his threat. "Reid, if you're that concerned, tell Strauss about me." Hotch knew he snapped unreasonably, which only furthered Reid's point that he did need the sleep. Spencer knew that what was said wasn't supposed to feel like a slap in the face, but it did. A silence settled on them, like the eye of a hurricane – the real storm was just begining in earnest.

Not wanting another verbal blow directed at him, Reid quieted. The silence scolded Hotch, and after only a minute of silence, he began to speak. "I don't like it because it brings up bad memories." His tone was careful, guarded. He knew Spencer would pick up on the reticence in his tone, but he didn't bother trying to hide it. This was not a comfortable topic, and he did not appreciate it being brought up. Like a town that was preparing for a tempest, Spencer could visibly see Hotch reinforcing his defenses, sitting up against the headboard and crossing his arms in a classic defensive stance. HootH

Spencer recognized the tone Aaron used, but he didn't drop the subject. It was supposed to rain for at least another few days and Aaron could not afford to miss more sleep. If it happened once in a great while, Spencer was typically able to convince him to leave the office at a relatively decent hour and get in bed earlier to help him catch up on sleep. But missing this much sleep was unacceptable. Adults needed 7-9 hours of sleep per night, and statistics about what happened when they did not get that sleep flooded his head. Rather than spout numbers and data, he asked instead, "And those memories are…?"

At that, Agent Hotchner seriously considered ordering his agent to go back to sleep and drop the subject. He knew that if he used THAT tone, Reid would do it. If he used his, "I-am-FBI-and-you-will-do-as-I-say" voice as Reid called it, the matter would drop it for awhile, at least. But damn it, Aaron didn't want to be an FBI agent when he was around Reid and they were both off duty. He wanted to just be Aaron – and that meant he couldn't use his FBI voice, even when it made things so much easier.

The rough, "I didn't have the best experience with storms when I was ten," came out at last.

Reid said nothing, waiting for his lover to continue.

"I was in sports at the time, and it was time for the footraces. I was always the fastest in my grade, so I was picked to compete against the older kids, so we could decide which two would represent our school at the regional races." Hotch shrugged. "I came in third place because one of the older kids knocked me down intentionally. It wasn't a big deal; I didn't want to compete. Being ten and competing with twelve and thirteen year olds who want to win more than anything isn't exactly fun."

Spencer nodded. He'd had his fair share of bullying, so he knew what Aaron wasn't exactly telling him. If he'd won, he would have been picked on by the older kids; if he'd lost it meant there would be mocking from his peers. It was a catch-22.

"My dad didn't agree." Aaron went on, "And when he came home drunk that night and found out I hadn't won first place, he was livid." Hotch's voice dropped lower and became mechanical as the tale went on; Spencer found himself recognizing his superior was detaching himself from the story.

Focusing on the story, Reid listening as his lover explained. "It was probably a little after midnight when he came back in. I had been asleep – the next day was a school morning – and apparently my mom had told him that I hadn't won or he'd seen the bronze medallion they gave me. Either way, he stormed into my room, pulled me out of bed and started yelling. That I disappointed him; that my mother had clearly slept with someone else; that I was a bastard, because no son of his would ever accept a loss." In the soft glow of the nightlight, Reid could see Hotch was smiling slightly, his face stained with cynicism.

"That was complete nonsense, of course. I'm far too much like him for me to be anyone else's son, and he knew it. But it was his best way of verbally hurting me at the time. After that, he roughed me up a bit and put me outside where a storm was in full force. Winds were nearly hurricane force, so it was a little traumatic. I really haven't liked storms at night since."

Reid listened carefully, reading between the lines of the story. Hotch's father had roughed him up "a bit"? For those who knew the "Hotchian" language the Unit Chief used in situations where he was glossing over things, the phrase "a bit" translated to "a lot," and "roughed up" probably meant "beat the hell out of." And a little traumatic? God, he'd been put out into a hurricane-force storm at ten. It was a miracle he wasn't cowering at every drop of rain.

Spencer braced himself, his voice calm in lieu of the anger that was building at the man Hotch had called Father. "How long were you outside?" It broke his heart to see Aaron almost physically shutting down as he discussed his childhood.

Aaron's eyes now were glazed as he thought through the unpleasant memories. "All night. Six hours at the most." Although his face betrayed no emotions other than annoyance at his lover's questions, internally Hotch was reliving the night. The fists connecting to flesh, leaving welts that would change to bruises, the verbal blows raining down were just as stinging as the fists, but far longer lasting. _You're no son of mine, Aaron. I didn't raise any Hotchner to be a failure. No son of mine would disgrace himself like that. And no one who accepts his failures like that can stay under my roof. _The words still rang through his ears. Even after all those years, the words came back to haunt him. The rain pattering on the glass brought those memories up every single time.

He closed his eyes as the flood of emotions welled up: his mind was screaming at him, his body practically feeling the blows of fists as they rained down on him, similar to the rain that soon would also beat him too…

Suddenly, and hand ghosted over his shoulder. Long, thin fingers spread out before giving a reassuring squeeze. Hotch wasn't aware of when exactly he'd fallen into memories, but the hand grounded him, bringing him back to the present. His eyes flew open and locked onto Reid's.

"Aaron, he can't hurt you anymore."

"I know," was the only response given, and it was incredibly weak. There was no conviction in the statement, and it pained Reid to see how damaged the normally confident Aaron really was.

"He can't hurt you anymore."

"Spencer, I know that." This time the voice sounded like Hotch was trying to put himself back together without totally losing his famous control, yet still laced with the plea for reassurance.

"He can't hurt you anymore. It wasn't your fault. He can't hurt you anymore. Aaron, it wasn't your fault, and he can't hurt you anymore…" Spencer continued to repeat the phrases over and over as Aaron actually began to hear the words as truth. Aaron leaned into Spencer's embrace when it was offered, actually accepting comfort for once instead of being the one to give it. Hotch wouldn't admit it, but silent tears fell from his eyes.

Silence had settled onto the room. "Aaron," Spencer finally said minutes, maybe hours, later. "He can't hurt you anymore. And what he did was never your fault."

"I know that. It wasn't my fault. He's gone." Aaron's reply was stronger now, confidence building again.

"Well, if you know… then, why are you still awake?"

Hotch considered the question. Being left outside in the storm had been traumatic in and of itself, but the sound of the rain put him on edge. But there was no danger. It made him restless, and the sound of rain pelting the windows caused him to expect someone come storming through the door, bringing violence and pain like it had in his childhood. But those memories were just that: memories. They couldn't hurt him anymore. His father was gone. "I don't know," he answered honestly, his eyes storming with emotions as he met his lover's gentle gaze.

Reid nodded, slowly. He knew that there was only so much he could actually do for Hotch other than listen and support him. "Well, in that case, I think we should have some hot chocolate, then go to sleep."

Hotch blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. Reid shrugged and stepped out of bed. "Come on, Hotch. Hot chocolate, then bed."

While they were making their three am snack, the two traded light banter, Reid briefly imagining the horror that would ensure if he actually DID go to Strauss regarding Aaron's sleeping patterns. Somehow, he didn't think announcing "Hotch isn't functioning as well because he's low on sleep, which I happen to know because I'm his lover" would go over well. Hotch joked that he'd be curious to see if Erin Strauss would turn white from shock or red from anger at missing the signs of their relationship – or possibly even both.

By the time the hot chocolate had been made, their conversations turned to lighter subjects, but mostly the two rested in the comfortable silence. Like the storm that leaves everything calm in its wake, so their discussion had been. Aaron didn't know if it was the hot chocolate that caused the drowsiness or if dredging up his stormy childhood had worn him out, but he felt tired enough to sleep in the rain now. He hadn't done that since he was ten years old.

Fifteen minutes later found the two back under the covers, empty mugs resting on bedside tables. Hotch was far more relaxed than when the conversation had started and he actually felt his eyes growing heavy. It took a few minutes, but he was actually, finally, on the verge of sleep.

Before his mind turned completely off, he asked the question that he only felt fair. "So now you know why I'm afraid of the rain at night – why are you afraid of the dark?" It wasn't until the question was out of his mouth that he realized it sounded more like mush than real language.

Spencer must have understood him though, because a soft laugh sounded. "The inherent absence of light," he said, as he always did. When Hotch struggled to sit up and try to continue that train of conversation, Reid pushed him back down and smiled. "I think that's a story for another day," he finally said, smiling slightly before settling in for the few hours they had left of the night. Aaron murmured something again that sounded like "unfair," "ambushed me" and "evil genius" but soon enough all was silent.

Within moments, Aaron's breathing had evened out. No nightmares were visiting him, for which Reid was grateful. "I know you don't fully believe it yet, but it wasn't your fault…" he whispered softly, "Good night, Aaron,"

Outside, the squall raged on, but inside, there was only peace.

"_I am not afraid of storms, for I'm learning how to sail my ship." – Louisa May Alcott_


End file.
